


Five Goodbyes

by XaviaAndromedovna



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: (it's Church), 5 Times, 5 unrelated flashfics stacked in a trenchcoat, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Humor, Awkward Dates, Awkward Funeral, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Missing Scene, Secret Santa, bi!York, the thrill of an ungloved hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XaviaAndromedovna/pseuds/XaviaAndromedovna
Summary: Five goodbyes the Reds and Blues have given throughout the multiverse, ranging from sad to funny to cute:1) Caroline Church meets the "Duke of New York" at a Manhattan ball and scandalizes the town with her bold request for a dance.2) Simmons accidentally swipes right and is much too polite not to show up to his date with Grif, I mean that would be rude, right?3) Caboose has a breakdown when Genkins possesses Church, but he'll be okay... eventually.4) Carolina gives an uncomfortable eulogy on Iris for a... fallen comrade of sorts.5) Tucker and Wash clean up after a Christmas party with their old army buddies.
Relationships: Agent Carolina & Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Agent Carolina/Agent York (Red vs. Blue), Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington, Michael J. Caboose & Leonard L. Church
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	1. York/Carolina having a cute first date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenOfTheGlass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfTheGlass/gifts).



> lol so I couldn't decide which prompt I wanted to do so I did all of them #oops here, have some random vignettes! Chapter titles are the prompts.
> 
> This fic was written for RvB Secret Santa 2020; hope you like your gift, elverniia! Merry crisis!

Miss Caroline Church is notorious in the Manhattan social scene for her brazen forwardness and an unwillingness to suffer the tedium of polite conversation. This reputation is cemented on a particularly balmy night in April shortly before the first dance at a ball held by Mr. Austin Bancroft, frequently dubbed the “Duke of New York”. Against the advice of her younger brother Leonard, she approaches the Duke, who is twirling a match absently while leaning against the fireplace, feigning interest in his friends’ conversation. She snatches the match expertly from his hand and replaces it with her empty dance card. It takes him several seconds to recover, but he pencils his name in for three dances with an incredulous laugh.

“And may I inquire as to the name of the woman with whom I am to dance?”

“Caroline Church,” she replies, offering her hand. He takes it and presses a kiss to the back.

“Austin Bancroft, at your service. I apologize for being derelict in my hosting duties to have missed the entrance of such an enchanting guest.”

“Well then, Mr. Bancroft, I look forward to you making it up to me on the dancefloor. I’ve heard the Duke of New York is quite the dancer.”

He shakes his head fondly at the moniker. “I am certainly a practiced partner, though I will leave assessment of my skills to your capable estimation.”

He is, in fact, a wonderful dancer, and even more to his credit, he takes it in stride when during their second dance, Caroline leads instead. She can see his other guests comment with vehement disapproval at the reversal, but Mr. Bancroft himself is beaming. By the end of the night, they have become fast friends.

“Shall I call upon you some time?”

Caroline grins mischievously. “You may, unless I might call upon you first?”

“I am most amenable to that,” Mr. Bancroft chuckles.

“In that case,” Caroline replies, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to it. “Farewell for now.”

He ducks his head in embarrassed joy. “Goodbye, Miss Church.”

She does come calling three days later, to mutual delight.

The Duke, having shown her more of the estate than she could glimpse at the party, gestures out a large set of French doors. “Would you care to accompany me on a walk through the gardens?”

“I would enjoy that very much.”

Mr. Bancroft’s garden is immaculately maintained and makes for pleasant conversation between the pair. Caroline boldly places her arm into the crook of the Duke’s, eliciting a raised eyebrow from her companion. “Miss Church, I must say, you have attracted quite the reputation for how intently you pursue the objects of your desire.”

“Many would esteem that to be a criticism,” Caroline counters primly. “Do you mean it as such?”

“On the contrary,” Mr. Bancroft clarifies cheerfully. “I find it refreshing not to be expected to take the lead in every encounter.”

“I’m glad.” Caroline guides them down a path with tall hedges, at the end of which she spies a fountain. “I have heard similar discussion of your proclivities for pursuing your passions.”

He laughs. “I’m sure you have, and I can assure you that whatever indecorous things you have heard about me, they are more than likely true.”

“How delicious! And if I were to be so impertinent as to inquire of you which of the many tales of your dalliances are based in fact, would you answer?”

“I would,” the Duke indulges with amusement. “Let us see: there was the lovely Miss M___; and of course our dear friend Miss C___; then there were the G___s, Mr. _and_ Mrs.”

“I see!”

“And I am loath to brag, but it is rumoured that I have been spotted in the company of a certain ignoble Lady of mutual acquaintance, who also has in her employ a peculiarly affectionate stable boy.”

“Indeed!” Caroline is quite certain that this confession, this catalogue of illicit lovers, is a test of some import to the Duke. His affected nonchalance is undermined by the nervous fiddling with his pocket-watch chain. He has placed a great deal of trust in her by making her privy to such cause for scandal. She too puts on airs of indifference to mask the thrill of such a confession, pausing to examine a singularly enticing rose. “And are you always so prodigal with the contents of such a roster?”

“I am discreet when occasion merits it, but I also find it distasteful to pretend to be anything besides who I am.”

“A perfectly sensible approach to life. And are these recent liaisons or a recitation of the more salacious pages of your diary?”

Mr. Bancroft smiles at her genuinely with this question, coming to a stop at the fountain. “As I suspected, nothing escapes your keen powers of observation. I am not quite as prolific a suitor as has been advertised, I regret to inform you.”

“A tragedy, I’m sure.” She smiles back at him, thanking her past self for asking him to dance the other night. It has certainly proven worth her while.


	2. Grif/Simmons having a cute first date

When Donut signed Simmons up for Sarg’d (“YOU JUST GOT SARG’D” reads the homepage banner in an obnoxious red font that is nearly impossible to navigate away from on mobile), he had no intention of using the dating app. Simmons just doesn’t have time to meet people—not that he’s not interested, he’s just, y’know, completely socially awkward and doesn’t know how to talk to attractive people. It doesn’t help that when Donut signed him up, he marked that Simmons was interested in women _and_ men (and non-binary people, which Simmons didn’t even know was an option on the app; good for them). He tries not to think too hard about why he hasn’t changed his settings yet.

One night, though, he’s particularly bored and decides to swipe through his options, weeding out the men and other incompatible prospects. He gets a notification of a match and realizes that during a fairly rapid-fire stretch he accidentally swiped right on some guy accidentally. Y’know, on accident. Before he knows it, the guy, Grif, is messaging him and, well, even if it is a misunderstanding, it’d be rude to just ignore him, right?

And that’s how Simmons’ impeccable manners and social awkwardness score him a date—with a guy—that he’s much too polite not to show up to. Luckily, they have interesting conversations and he’s not exactly completely awful to look at, so it could be worse, Simmons supposes. In fact, he more or less forgets it’s a date until it’s nearly over and they’re on their way out of the restaurant.

“I’m just saying, why do all that laundry if you don’t have to?”

“Disgusting.” They come to a stop just outside the door. The sun went down about ten minutes ago so the streetlamps are coming on haphazardly but it’s still plenty light out to see the glint in Grif’s eyes. “This was fun.”

“Yeah,” Grif smiles. “Would you wanna do this again?”

Simmons panics, not because he doesn’t know how to respond to that offer, but because he knows _exactly_ how he wants to respond and that’s not what was supposed to happen! “Umm… well, I mean…”

Grif’s face falls but he recovers quickly. “Dude, relax, it’s just a question, not a proposal. Just message me if you wanna hang out. Or not.”

“I do!” He would like to perish now. Someone kindly yeet him directly to superhell so he doesn’t have to deal with this. “I mean… sorry, I’m kind of freaking out, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Seriously, you don’t have to explain—”

“IswipedrightbyaccidentI’msorryI’mstraightorsoIthoughtbutnowI’mreallyconfused!”

Grif just blinks at him. “Come again?”

Simmons sighs through the flames currently engulfing his body and responds honestly. “Look, I had a wonderful time tonight, like fantastic, which is kind of throwing me for a loop because up until like an hour ago I thought I was straight and that this was all a big misunderstanding but you’re actually pretty cool and yes I would absolutely like to hang out with you again if I haven’t already completely ruined it by being a spiraling ball of anxiety.”

Grif doesn’t really change his posture throughout the entire exchange, just grins lazily when Simmons finishes. “Well, you’re in luck. I think that’s adorable.”

Not. Helping. “uhhhHHHHH THank??”

Grif chuckles and after a brief hesitation gives Simmons a kiss on the cheek. “Have a good night then…”

“You too!”

And then they start to leave… in the same direction.

“Umm…”

Grif laughs awkwardly. “On second thought, guess we have a little more time to kill.”

They walk together for several more blocks, chatting about nothing, before finally parting ways again. But not even fifteen minutes later, when Simmons arrives at his building, Grif is just walking up as well.

Simmons stops and gapes at him. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me…”

Grif seems just as surprised to see him. “Jesus Christ, man, are you stalking me?”

“Uh, I live here, asshole, what are _you_ doing here?”

“I live here too.”

“Yeah right,” Simmons scoffs but is quickly proven wrong when Grif is able to unlock the front door. He closes it behind him so Simmons can’t get in and smugly watches him through the window. Simmons growls and unlocks the door. “Very funny…”

“I certainly thought so.”

“What floor are you on?” Simmons asks as they take to the stairs.

“Third…you?”

Of course. “Oh God, please tell me you’re not the apartment with the loud and frankly alarming noises—”

Grif sighs. “That’s my sister, she has a habit of bringing people home at strange times of day.”

“My condolences.”

“Wait a minute… didn’t your apartment set off the fire alarm for the whole building last week?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started, I about killed Donut.”

“Donut?”

“My roommate.”

“Oh.” He looks slightly crestfallen but he plays it cool with a smirk. “Roommate or ‘roommate’?”

“Oh God no!! Eww! He’s like my annoying little brother mixed with… a cat that has decided you live together and you can’t get rid of them because they know how to break in.”

They get to their doors and once again awkwardly stand around not wanting to part.

“Should we say goodbye again or are you gonna follow me into my apartment too?” Grif leers before his face drops in realization of how forward that sounds. Simmons swallows and attempts to be smooth.

“Did you want me to follow you?”

“Did you want to?”

The question is answered for them by a loud moan coming from Grif’s apartment followed by the unmistakable sound of dolphin clicks and a gong. Grif rolls not just his eyes but his whole head as Simmons laughs. He unlocks his door. “Come on in,” Simmons offers with a fond, mocking grin. Grif follows with a small smile of his own. “How do you feel about _Battlestar Galactica_?”


	3. Caboose saying goodbye to Church

He was supposed to be over it by now.

It was hard enough saying goodbye when all this started, when Loco ripped a hole in spacetime to let Caboose get one last moment with Church. Maybe if he had been able to get over it the first however many times, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if he—

No. If this whole adventure has taught them anything, it’s that torturing yourself with things you’d have done differently will only lead to more pain. Time is made of circles, but you have to trace the circles in order, or the loops tangle and the zippers break and you have to rezip time and it’s a whole process which is fine with Caboose except for the fact that that means they have to relive their memories and the only memories Genkins will bother visiting all have Church and he needs to—

Caboose doesn’t like hurting himself anymore. The past should have stayed in the past.

The memories can’t hurt him as long as they’re just memories. He’s relived these moments so many times that flashing between them is just a routine litany of his Church years. He knows them so well that he can instantly spot the differences, the parts that don’t quite fit, that don’t loop correctly. That’s how he knows what Genkins has done to Church’s body when they awaken at Blood Gulch.

It takes everything within his power to engage Genkins politely. He asks him nicely to leave. He explains why what he’s doing is harmful. He asks him again. He stops asking and starts telling. And when he still won’t listen, won’t take the hint that everyone else witnessing this picks up on with growing horror, won’t _put Church’s body down_ —

Church is out cold when Caboose returns to his senses. His suit’s waste disposal unit works to remove the evidence of having wet himself during his mental breakdown. He knows Church will be fine once they fix the timeline… well, at least until the next time he dies. But Caboose? Caboose is not fine. He sits beside Church and cries yet again over his best friend. It’s bad enough Genkins is willfully destroying time, but this was just cruel. The sobs are a familiar sensation, one that exhausts him before it even begins. He’s so tired of being sad.

It doesn’t hurt any less the 17th time around, but he is at least used to it now. He knows that the only way out of this vice gripping his chest is to embrace the sadness and then let it go. Letting go of Church has always been the hard part. But he’s so much stronger now than he was before. He’s had plenty of practice losing him, and while he knows now that Church really isn’t coming back this time, that’s okay, because at least he gets this. He gets one more chance to sit next to the real live Church and let him know he’s the coolest best friend in the multiverse.

Unfortunately, the problem with time being broken is that there’s really none they can afford to waste, so he has to cut this short, because Donut and Wash will need all the help they can get catching the rest of the group up on what they need to do. He loves his friends, but quantum physics is not their strong suit. He takes a deep breath, kneels beside Church’s head, and bumps their helmets together. “Goodbye, Church.”


	4. Washington and Carolina comforting each other by either talking or hugging

“Hey,” Wash calls gently, popping his head in the doorframe. “You ready to do this?”

Carolina sighs with the full weight of her exhaustion. “Let’s just get it over with.”

They’ve been on Iris for several months now, getting a feel for retirement. It’s going about as well as one would expect of Carolina. Her ‘meditation sessions’ or whatever they’re calling them with Grif aren’t helping eliminate the constant buzz under her skin that can usually be channeled into prepping for a fight or pummeling an enemy. She’s never been one to relax, even when she desperately needs to.

She spars with Wash when she can, but those sessions are becoming more infrequent as Wash adjusts to his new life. There’s no point in running drills—not like she’d be able to corral the sim troopers here anyway, given the rules of malarkey (which still baffles her to no end as a system of government). She’s not having as hard a time as Sarge grasping the concept of no more enemies, but it’s close. She spends a lot of time walking around and shooting things.

On one of those excursions, Carolina was walking through the fields where the dinosaurs used to roam before their battle with the robots. She set up some targets and worked on her quickfire technique. During one round, the sound of the bullet hitting the final target sounded… off, like it hit something else. When Carolina approached the line of targets to see what had happened, the sight she came upon froze her where she stood. She had made a grave error, one for which she may never be forgiven.

And now, the moment of atonement has come. The rest of their family has already gathered for the funeral, and she can feel all eyes on her as she emerges from the building into the open space that has become their central meeting forum. The tension and humiliation are unbearable. In all her years with Project Freelancer and Chorus and even before that, few situations have been as truly mortifying as this. She takes the stage, so to speak, and stands beside the casket of their fallen comrade.

“Hello everyone,” she begins awkwardly. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know that it’s exactly appropriate for me to be leading this funeral under the circumstances, but I do think it’s crucial that I say something on behalf of the deceased. I just wanted to start by saying I’m sorry. I made a careless mistake, and it cost one of our own their life. I will never forgive myself for my part in what happened.” The only person looking right at her is Caboose, and his understanding but devastated stare is haunting.

She takes a deep breath and begins her eulogy.

“Freckles was a beloved and vital part of our team. Many an enemy has been thwarted due to his courageous loyalty and sheer strength. His part in the final defeat of Felix will forever be remembered as one of his more… surprising victories, one that turned the tide of the war on Chorus. Freckles has taken many forms over the years, and like most of us, has proven extremely difficult to kill. But for each of us, there comes a time when our luck runs out.”

The absurdity of the situation is evident in the demeanor of everyone in attendance except Caboose. It takes Carolina everything in her power not to catch the contagious giggles between Grif and Simmons, not to echo the bored mutterings of Sarge or to let Tucker get a rise out of her with his lewd gestures behind Caboose’s back. “Freckles could be… intimidating at times, but his most endearing quality was how devotedly he cared for Caboose. He is irreplaceable, and his absence will be felt for a long time to come.” She turns to the tiny casket and places a hand on it. “Goodbye, Freckles. I’m sorry.”

As she steps down to allow Caboose to come up and give his own eulogy, she makes a beeline for Wash, who hugs her with amusement. “You did great, that was very moving.”

“It’s just so… embarrassing.”

“You’re a great friend.”

She stares at him flatly. “I killed Freckles.”

He releases her but still presses their shoulders together as they turn to face Caboose. “Freckles wandered into the line of fire; it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have been paying more attention.”

“Hey, he’ll forgive you… eventually… probably.”

She shakes her head. “They’ll never let me live this down.”

Wash chuckles softly. “Good, maybe you’ll finally slow down and lighten up.”

She smiles, though no one can see it through her visor. “Maybe.”


	5. Washington and Tucker celebrating Christmas together

“Goodbye! Bye now! See ya! Bye! Yep, goodbye!—oh thank god they’re finally gone.” Tucker closes the front door as the last of their army buddies fade from view and leans his forehead into Wash’s waiting chest. His husband chuckles and rubs his back through his ugly snowman sweater. “Can I please take this off now?”

“Absolutely not,” Wash smirks. He takes Tucker’s hand and leads him back to the living room where the aftermath of Christmas coats every surface. Wrapping paper spills out of a garbage bag next to the tree, which has managed to shed an alarming amount of pine needles considering it’s artificial. A mountain of toys for Junior separates the tree from the couch, where Junior himself is out cold. Wash and Tucker’s own modest haul is piled at the other end of the couch in front of the new stain in the carpet from where Caboose’s dog Freckles knocked over Donut’s wineglass (which thankfully didn’t break because the last thing they need right now is to clean up glass). Mugs and plates are strewn haphazardly around the room waiting to be taken to the kitchen, which Tucker doesn’t even want to _begin_ thinking about.

“Whyyyy did we ever agree to this?”

“Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut when Grif and Simmons hosted last year,” Wash points out yet again, lifting Junior with ease to take him to his actual bed. “Also you not-so-secretly love having everyone together and this way you didn’t have to drive through two feet of snow.” Wash kisses his forehead on his way upstairs, Tucker grumbling without heat as he begins tidying the living room. He snags the last cookie and brings the plate to the kitchen, placing it precariously in the sink with the others. Thankfully most of the leftovers went home with their guests, but there’s still enough to keep them from cooking for the next four days.

Wash has returned to the living room by the time Tucker returns for more dishes, trying one last time to save the carpet from a permanent splotch of merlot. “New rule: white and rosé only outside the kitchen, no reds on the carpet.”

“Don’t let Sarge hear you say that,” Tucker retorts. “He’ll attempt to invent blue wine just so he can ban it.”

Wash chuckles. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” The lights flicker slightly and Wash sighs. “Damn it, I forgot to ask Lopez if he’d check the wiring for us, that’s gonna drive me nuts.”

“He’d probably be offended if we asked him to work on Christmas. Or any day really, I don’t think he likes us very much.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s just like that,” Wash counters. “Not like we make much of an effort to include him.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I have a 7-day streak on Duolingo!”

“Wait, really?”

“Well yeah,” Tucker brags, adopting the swagger he used to desperately emulate but has lately come to use as an exaggerated joke on himself. “How else am I gonna impress all the chicks with what I can do with—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Wash begs with a playfully exasperated glare. Tucker winks at him and takes his pile of dishes to the sink. He can hear Wash puttering around in the next room as he loads the dishwasher, and it scares him how content he is. He never saw himself as the type of guy to settle down (certainly not with a man and fellow soldier) and to bake five different types of cookies from scratch and to host _Christmas parties_ , but after Junior was born, it became harder and harder for him to pretend that he didn’t want a sense of stability. This feeling rarely returns anymore, but sometimes he’s hit with a wave of disbelief. _This is really my life_. And what’s more, he likes it that way.

Wash has just transferred the last of Junior’s toys to his room as Tucker runs the dishwasher and walks into the living room. He turns off the main lights, letting the tree and the kitchen do the bulk of the illumination, and sits on the couch next to his husband. “Thanks,” he murmurs as he lays his head on Wash’s shoulder.

“For what?”

“Being you.”

“Tucker,” Wash asks with mock severity, “have you been drinking the eggnog again? You know rum makes you sappy.”

“Shut up and cuddle me, asshole.”

Wash laughs and pulls Tucker down so his head is in his lap. They play with each others’ hands absently, and Tucker watches the glow of the Christmas tree while listening to the rise and fall of Wash’s chest. “I’m impressed,” Wash comments. “I haven’t seen a single sprig of mistletoe all month!”

Tucker barks out a laugh. “Maybe don’t look above our bedroom door then.”

“God damn it.”

“Oh, boo hoo, it’s such a hardship.”

“However will I survive…” Wash leans down to kiss Tucker, and while he definitely wants to do more of that, he’s also about to crash from the adrenaline high of hosting. Tucker closes his eyes and smiles. “Merry Christmas, Lavernius.”

His eyes open again so he can glare at Wash, though he can’t help the grin that accompanies it. Jerk. “Merry Christmas, _David_.”


End file.
